


Take Me Down

by ghoulkink



Category: Monster Prom (Visual Novel)
Genre: AFAB reader - Freeform, Bars and Pubs, Coming Inside, DFAB reader, F/M, Fingering, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Meet & Fuck, Monsterfucking, Public Sex, Unprotected Sex, Vaginal Fingering, drool, meet ugly, songfic sorta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-25 20:42:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21731656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghoulkink/pseuds/ghoulkink
Summary: You've got two choices: Fight this guy, or fuck him. (Surprise, you fuck him.)
Relationships: Damien LaVey/Reader
Comments: 18
Kudos: 354





	Take Me Down

**Author's Note:**

> listened to "take me down" by the pretty reckless on repeat while i wrote this, so it's kind of a songfic, but that's not an integral part of things. anywho, here's however many words of damien thirst!
> 
> bits of dialogue inspired by dytabytes' [drown the bed in kerosene and let your matches fall](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16481897); do give that a read when you're done here!!

The air of the bar is thick and muggy with leather and sweat, mixing with the miasma of gin and whiskey permeating the building. Smoke clings to the air and hangs heavy in your eyes; whether it’s from cigarettes or cigars or sticky, you’re unsure, but it spreads throughout your lungs with an incomparable warmth that you can’t find anywhere else. 

Like most days when you come here, you’re alone, leant against the bartop and nursing an Old Fashioned whilst you drink in the atmosphere. Humans and monsters alike are out in the crowd, hollering and swaying their bodies to the music of the blues rock band playing on stage. You can count a dozen or so new stickers that’ve been slapped around the room and onstage since you’ve been here; irreverent, sometimes crude slogans and curvaceous mudflap girls melding perfectly into the adhesive patchwork decor. 

An errant few dot the floor; mostly promotional handouts from other acts that misread the scene to an embarrassing degree and were either eaten alive--literally speaking, you’d seen it happen once or twice--or were received so indifferently they finished their sets and never came back.

Today’s act, though? You almost prayed they’d come back. Their sound was low; soulful and gritty in how it seduced even wallflower goblins like you into the thick of the crowd to bop your head along and let their energy wash over you. Mindful of your drink, you allow yourself to get lost in the drums, heart beating in time with the bass that guides your hips in a steady, confident rhythm. 

Their frontman was a songstress if there ever was one, her husky, barrel-aged timbre seeping into your very bones and stripping from you all your inhibitions. Despite frequenting such a rowdy establishment, you considered yourself to be somewhat reserved, content with your routine of hearty drinking and observing. 

You were far from a pacifist, however, and would lash out in a heartbeat at whoever dragged it out of you--usually horny pricks who couldn’t keep their hands to themselves, or generally unpleasant folk who looked down their noses at you for whatever reason.

This time was different. 

At first, you thought the flicking at your ears was accidental. It’s a bar, people are drunk, and there’s live music. Somebody’s bound to bump into you and mean nothing by it. Whoever was touching you flicked at your ear a third time, and you felt yourself seeing red. This idiot in particular, what with their looming behind you and repetitive ear-fondling, was hellbent on getting on your nerves. 

Flick. Flick flick. _Flick_. “You ignoring me, assmunch?” 

Inwardly, you sighed. Why did the sexy-sounding ones have the least amount of respect for you? Whatever. Rolling your eyes to the point of near painfulness, you clenched your empty cup that slightest bit tighter and tried to focus on the music. 

“Seriously? I bring you somewhere you can get your weird hipster rocks off and you ditch me in the pit? Party fuckin’ foul, dude.” 

An impossibly warm hand gripped at your shoulder to turn you around, and somehow, the color drained from his pretty, red face as he realized that no, you were not the friend he’d shown up with. What a lucky friend he had, though, hanging out with someone who can fill out leather pants like a fucking champ. Man, what you wouldn’t give to take his zipper between your teeth and—wait, no, what are you thinking? 

Resting a hand on your jutted hip, you schooled your loosening expression into something more expectant, brow cocked and mouth curved into a slight frown. “I’d say the real party foul is fondling a girl from behind when she’s just trying to have a good time.”

Hot Guy, as you’d elected to call him, immediately started yelling, baring his ridiculously sharp teeth. “Well that’s what you get for looking like my shitty friend from behind. Not my fault you’re both short as shit with the same goofy-ass ears.” His eyes grew harder, roving over your figure in an observant sort of way. “Not seeing any bite marks on you, though. You a troll or somethin’?”

“Troll?” You scoff indignantly. “I’m a _gargoyle_ , fuckass. Fuck are you, some sort of Tapatío enthusiast?” You gestured to the whole of him; the red hair, the red horns, the pretty red skin wrapped around the masculine cut of his jaw and beautiful biceps—no, no, focus. You’re angry. 

“ _Har-har_ , fuckmunch,” his voice cuts in, “like I haven’t heard that before.” In truth, the closest he’d heard was spicy ketchup, but he wasn’t going to tell you that.

Anger was your goal, but holes he was boring into you with those striking gold eyes were begging to be filled.

For a moment, time bubbled around the two of you, eyes locked together in tense silence amidst a throng of grooving bodies and spilling bourbon. Behind him, you could see his tail swaying to and fro, fluid and sure. You’d always had a thing for guys with tails.

Stepping that slightest bit closer, you traded your frown for a smirk, helping yourself to the strings of his sleeveless hoodie. “What’s your name, Tapatío?”

“You expect an actual fucking answer?” He’s all but growling, and you’re trying really hard to keep your cool.

“I mean, yeah. Unless you want me to call you various chili peppers while we’re fucking?” You shrug. “Not a tall order for a green thumb, _mi_ _habanero_.”

His nostrils flare. For a second, you think he’s not going to answer, or that he might even punch you, despite the light touches you’ve been trailing between his pectorals since you grew bored of his hoodie. 

“It’s Damien. Cocky asshat.”

Pleased, you roll onto your toes, lips ghosting the shell of his ear as you introduce yourself with a purr. “Don’t start things you can’t finish, Damien.” Gently, you suck on his lobe, nipping the soft flesh with your teeth. 

Then, as if some deity of lust has answered your prayers, he’s pretty much yanking you towards the bathrooms, your back slamming against the heavily-graffitied brickwork before you’ve even registered where you’ve gone. 

Damien’s teeth are sinking blissfully around your pulse point while a hand gropes hungrily at your breast, and already, your head is swimming. You tilt your head back with a sigh, fingers curling into his soft locks. “Fuck, you’re fast.”

He smirks against your neck, layering a deep, borderline painful hickey over his bite marks. “Not where it counts, babe. Could fuck you for hours and still not be tired.” When he pulls back to critique his work, you catch his gaze lingering on your lips. Something about it makes you feel kind of pretty.

Before you can dwell on it, your pants are off, and you’re gasping as two thick fingers plunge into your aching heat with a satisfying burn. He’s kind enough to give you a little bit to adjust, then his fingers are relentless, pumping into you with a rhythm that’s sure to match how he fucks. The pads of his fingers press against that delicate ridge within you and you tighten around him with a keen. He’s not even touched your clit yet, and you’re falling apart this much.

“Having fun already, hm?” Damien purrs, paying special attention to your g-spot. “You gonna come all over my fingers and beg me for my cock?”

“Depends,” you hum, eyes fluttering shut and head tipping back. “You got something worth begging for?”

Damien’s response is a smug huff and a nip to your neck as he drags his thumb against your clit. “ _Abso-fuckin’-lutely._ ” There’s only the slightest bit of pressure against that aching bundle of nerves, and your incoming retort dies on your tongue as your orgasm rips through you and sends you clamping around Damien’s fingers. 

In that moment, you knew no soul could ever compare.

“Fuck,” you growl, catching his wrist before he pulls out. “Gimme another one. Slower.” 

“Do I seem like the slow kind of guy to you?”

You laugh at that, the sound echoing off the walls and landing oddly in Damien’s ears. He kind of likes it.

“You don’t, but you’re freakishly sexy and I don’t want this to be over too soon. Finger me some more, devil boy. Tell me about your day or something.”

A thin brow arches on his handsome face. “You’re kidding.”

Instead of answering, you flick your wrist and puppeteer his hand a bit, crudely fucking yourself with his fingers until he takes the hint. “Is your mystery friend going to miss you? Or was that just a ploy to fondle my ears and lure me into your clutches?”

“There’s a friend,” Damien says rather absently, eyes affixed to where he disappears into you. His fingers are slower now, and you can feel the bends of his knuckles as they slide in and out of you. “His name’s Liam. Total yuppie hipster bastard, but he’s hot, so.” 

“Birds of a feather.” You offer, allowing yourself to detach and float along the river of pleasure. “He’s not gonna come poking around for you and join in, is he?”

“You want him to? Wouldn’t be the first time he’s been my third.” Damien doesn't falter, and you hadn't expected him to.

Playfully, you squeeze around his fingers. “Nah. Unless and until I almost beat the shit out of him in my sexy introvert duds, I don’t think the same attraction’ll be there.”

Damien looks up at you with a smirk. “Nothin’ like a fight-and-fuck.”

You can’t help but smile back at him. “Next time I should give you a shiner.” As if your hand belongs there, you reach out and stroke his face with zero hesitance, thumbing the area beneath his eye and above his cheekbone. “What color do you bruise?”

Those thick, talented fingers speed up a bit. “I'd assume bruise-colored.”

“Wise-ass,” you snip. There’s pressure coiling in your stomach, and your hips buck. “I bet it looks nice on you.”

“Not as nice as the face you’ll make when you come for me.” Damien prods a third finger against your entrance, grinning impishly when you shiver in earnest. “Some greedy pussy you’ve got here.”

The low purr of his voice makes your walls twitch. “Only for the good stuff,” you manage through the haze leaking into your brain. “M-more. Gonna come.” You wet your lips to say something else, and instead manage a shaky moan. “Definitely coming.”

Damien presses hard into your g-spot. “Good.”

Graciously letting you ride out your high (just how perfect was he going to _be?_ ), Damien scissors his pretty, pretty fingers before pulling out, and there's the telltale clink of his belt coming undone. He shifts your weight onto one arm to retrieve himself from his briefs, forehead resting against yours as he lines himself up with your entrance.

“This might hurt,” he tells you, lips brushing against yours. For someone so intense, he’s surprisingly tender. 

You meet his lips with yours as he starts to pull away, fingers finding his nape as you urge him to stay. When you break for air, his eyes are burning, and your stomach does that lurching, pining thing and you resign yourself to your fate.

“Don’t hold back, Big Red.”

Damien nods, and the blunt head of his cock starts to push into you, immediately putting the beautiful stretch of his fingers to shame. He’s wide, thick and hot and crowding you in the best way, splitting you open and moaning openly as he sheathes himself in your vibrance. 

Selfish, greedy, definitely horny—you want to bottle up that sound and keep it for yourself. He sounds beautiful.

The pull of him is slow, sedate, as Damien gets a feel for your body. Allows you to adjust to him. Regardless of your circumstances, he fucks into with languid, measured rolls of his hips, working steadily to open you up like you need. 

Like you both need.

As your lips part to bite further teases at him, to urge him forward, Damien pins you with pleading eyes. You’ve barely nodded when he sears his mouth over yours, and it’s he who steals your very breath as he rolls his hips relentlessly into yours. 

His every groan is sweet against your mouth, and you hate not being able to spread your legs further for him.

You part long enough to offer another romp at your place before he’s all over you again, bruising your lips, sucking your tongue, biting your neck.

Fire, both yours and his, burns low in your belly.

You’d gathered earlier that he had a fairly high body temperature, but feeling so much of it within you is something else entirely. His heat mingling with your own is turning your brain to mush, senses fried until all you can perceive is his cock drilling into you and the wet, rhythmic sounds of your flesh coming together. 

Shamelessly, passionately, he overwhelms you, making gasoline of your nerves and lighting you ablaze with each snap of his hips. Drool slips from the corner of your mouth and Damien licks it away, his long, forked tongue slipping into your mouth. He tastes of cinnamon whiskey and you murmur curses against his mouth.

Wetly, your mouths part, and you miss the dominance of his tongue. “Close again already? If only you knew how beautiful you feel, lending your pleasure to me like this. My body is yours, temptress, take what you need—” A deep thrust punctuates Damien’s words and he bottoms out, filling you so completely you all but leave your body. 

You’re on the precipice of being fucked completely raw, yet every fibre of you calls out for him, utterly devoted to the intoxicating pitch of Damien’s hips. 

Gentler than he had before, he kisses the marks blossoming along your neck, and it sends you hurtling into ecstasy. 

The whelm of and pleasure mingle indistinguishably while your walls clasp tightly around his cock, milking from him the orgasm he wanted so desperately to spill across your stomach. Like the rest of him, his load burns bright and hot, drawing forth violent aftershocks that leave you slumped against his shoulder, tears spilling from your eyes.

Your voice is a reedy keen— _“Fuck **yes** , you’re coming!”_—and then you’re babbling against his shoulder, encouraging him through your overstimulated tears to fuck you until he’s drained himself dry.

In the blink of an eye, he urges you off his shoulder to sear his mouth against yours, pounding into you just that much harder before he’s cresting wholly, fangs digging into your lip as he spills heavily into you. 

Damien is gentle as he drinks up your parting sighs, and even gentler as he soothes you back into your body, stroking the crown of your head with featherlight fingers. You’re still shaking when you give him the okay to pull out, but even then, he’s slow. Careful. Dampens a paper towel to clean you up.

Things are silent, comfortably so, and then, “..You good?” 

You chuckle as you take sight of the pink dusting his cheeks. After all that, he’s got the nerve to be bashful. 

“I’m _great_ ,” you enthuse, wobbling on baby doe legs as you slip back into your leggings. “This might sound a little weird, but... Do you wanna get out of here? Like, out of the bar? Maybe watch a movie back at mine?”

Damien’s tail betrays the excitement he’s only halfway trying to keep out of his face, perking up and wagging rather ardently behind him. “Only if you’re cool with me raiding your fridge. I’m fucking starving.”

Relief and joy carve your mouth into a smile. “There’s a steakhouse up the street.” 

“With the brown bread?”

The look you give him is flat and rather serious. “I accept nothing less than the brown bread.”

Damien grins, wild and terrifying. “Fuck right, you don’t. C’mon, big-ears, let’s split.”

You nudge his arm, but follow him anyway. “Right behind you, Tapatío.” 

**Author's Note:**

> this isn't even the first damien fic i've written, it's just the first one that got posted. 
> 
> should've been working on holiday exchanges instead of this but this needed to happen or i'd combust. hmu on [twitter](https://twitter.com/gargoylebite) if u also have poor time management skills xoxo


End file.
